


Say When

by CaptainCountdown



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I too would run for Helene but probably towards not away from, Post Season 3, lovers on the lam, surprise it's a one and done, this might be a oneshot impersonating something bigger, we'll see how many more feels I have about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCountdown/pseuds/CaptainCountdown
Summary: Set in the aftermath of season 3. Eve and Villanelle have chosen their sides, and must now hatch a plan to safely begin their lives together.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	Say When

**C1. Black Forest Gateau**

“Eve.” Villanelle says, sitting up. 

She can see her across the room, the silhouette of her tired frame and wild hair. Her shoulders are hunched over in determined worry as she stands before the large curtained window. There’s something about the shape of her body that reminds Villanelle of a wilting flower just then, and it begins to make her uncomfortable how fragile Eve can look if glimpsed at the wrong angle. 

“Come back to bed.” Villanelle keeps her voice even. She’s unwilling to admit that the vigilance is wholly warranted, that she, too, understands the need to scour, to anticipate whatever threat could have followed them here. 

Eve turns around now. It’s impossible to see her face in the dark. It’s a few hours shy of dawn in London, and the sky is still more black than blue beyond their 19th floor hotel room. Still, Villanelle doesn’t need to  _ see  _ Eve to know exactly what she must look like right now. She has seen that face before, been personally responsible for that worried brow and the consternated set of those beautiful lips. 

It is less sexy to be sharing in the terror with Eve now, but Villanelle appreciates the whole you-lean-on-me-I-lean-on-you thing. She  _ appreciates  _ Eve’s willing to be vulnerable in front of her. And yet, somehow, in the furthest most negligible depths of her psyche, having been ousted as the source of Eve’s terror burns her almost like jealousy tonight. 

“I keep thinking if I look long enough, if I just…” The shadow of Eve’s shoulders give a shrug. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll see something.”

Villanelle sits up in the bed now. The covers have fallen to her waist, and the unforgiving cold of their room pelts her, elicits a trail of goosebumps that stretch up and down her arms. “The boogeyman isn’t out there.”

“Okay, I know that taking me seriously is not your strong suit, but—”

“Eve,” Villanelle’s voice is stern as it cuts through the black room, “If you could spot one of the Twelve from all the way up here, they would have recruited you a long time ago. Now come back to bed.”

Conceding, Eve stalks back to the king sized bed they’ve fallen asleep in for the last two nights now. It was stupid not to leave London immediately, to willingly remain put where they’d frayed so many loose ties, but after they’d turned around to face one another on Tower Bridge… there had been a need to reconnect appropriately. 

They’d said a lot by saying nothing after that. Just walked, and walked, and walked until they walked into the lobby of a hotel and got a room.

And no matter how many times they had expelled the urge from their systems—and there’d been a great deal of attempts by now—the urge returned. The urge kept them here, in London, on the 19th floor of a 4-star hotel.

Even now, amidst Eve’s fear that they would be tracked down and brutally slaughtered, she wants Villanelle. Needs to have her again and again. So, she slides back into their bed and reaches for her, needing consolation, or, at the very least, a very pleasant distraction.

“Again?” Villanelle feigns surprise, allowing Eve to straddle her. “Fear makes you horny, Eve.” 

She tsks for effect, unable, even now, having finally claimed Eve for herself, to not give her a hard time.

Villanelle lets Eve take command, and that has become a delight, really, getting to experience Eve’s sexual prowess firsthand rather than imagine it on the opposite end of a hidden mic. There is nothing shy about her here, locked away in this hotel having chosen her side. 

There is nothing timid about the way Eve kisses Villanelle, and nothing unlearned about the way Eve opens Villanelle’s legs and jams her fingers inside.

And just like that, Villanelle is making all the sounds that she swore she wouldn’t. 

She begs and she pleads. She whimpers and she curses. She pushes the limits of her hips, trying to take more of Eve in. In response, or maybe in a daze—it’s hard to tell these last sleepless hours—Eve responds by drawing the longing out of her in breathy gasps and open-mouthed moans. 

Villanelle forfeits all manner of audible currency. There, on her back, splayed wide like a butterfly, she decides to let Eve clear her out. She will do anything Eve says if she just keeps going, just keeps giving. 

The desperation Villanelle has exhibited in the last 48 hours would put her instructors to shame. She has braved hours of torture, conditioning, and torturous conditioning to become the assassin she is today. And here Eve has only just lowered her mouth so that it may join her fingers, and already this is making Villanelle tell her secrets.

“I dreamed of this.” Villanelle coos, holding Eve’s head firmly between her legs. 

She is ready to kneel at Eve’s feet and present her with the world on a silver platter if she keeps—

“Oh, please.” Villanelle chokes out.

Eve pulls back to look at her, leaving her fingers inside to pump them slowly. 

So, so slowly.

Eve has been doing this, stopping just before Villanelle can come. It’s rotten and evil, and it warms every part of Villanelle when she does it. 

They can’t lock eyes through the opacity of night, though, so some of Eve’s trick has lost its charm. 

“I want to leave,” Eve whispers, leaning back in to taste her. “Tomorrow.”

Villanelle nods, overcome, by a desire so forceful it knocks the wind out of her. 

“Okay,” she swallows, “Okay. We’ll leave.”

“Tomorrow?” Eve asks, fingers gliding in. Then out. Then back in. 

Unable to resist, Villanelle smirks. “It  _ is  _ tomorrow, baby.”

_ Baby.  _ Villanelle’s been trying that out. It’s a far cry from her  _ Sorry Baby x  _ days _ ,  _ and it sounds a little awkward intended so earnestly, but it will become more commonplace with time, she thinks. And boy do they have time. 

Eve stops. 

“I’m serious. I want to leave today.”

Villanelle can’t see her, but it would be impossible not to hear that reluctant smile in Eve’s voice.

“Okay—yes, yes.” Villanelle lifts her hips, needy for contact.

“Promise?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Villanelle reaches for Eve’s head, grabbing a fistful of her hair. “Now, eat!”

  
  
  


They’ve only been indulging in their blissful, post-coitus cuddling for a few minutes or so when Eve clears her throat. 

She is happy to be here with Villanelle, truly. She cannot believe that she finally has her, has caught her, has allowed herself to be caught in return. Though it would be a lie to say that these were not uniquely tender times. Eve is wondering if they haven’t simply found their ways back to one another after suffering too many consecutive tragedies. Eve is wondering if they’re not both still reeling from so many abject losses of stability that they’ve had no choice but to lean on each other. 

More than anything, though, Eve is wondering why Villanelle wants out, why she doesn’t want to do the thing she  _ loves _ to do, the thing she’s been _ trained _ to do. Eve thinks if Villanelle is willing to turn her back on that, then Villanelle can turn her back on anything—and it’s hard to hitch a dream on that.

“Will you tell me now, please?”

Villanelle lets Eve go. She rolls away from her, back to her side of the bed, the left side. The side a few feet away from the bathroom door, which keeps small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, as well as a hair dryer. 

She knows how many steps it is to the bathroom, and she would have already retreated there had she known Eve would pull this again. 

“You suck at pillow talk.” Villanelle huffs.

Eve rolls over now too, chasing after Villanelle as can only be instinct by now.

“Come on.” Her voice is soft, pleading. “What happened?”

Villanelle pouts. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean what happened? Why are you retiring?” Eve pauses, repositions her arm over Villanelle’s bare waist. “Can you even do that?”

Villanelle scoffs. She remembers there’s leftover cake in the fridge and perks up. “I can do whatever I want.”

Eve is quiet. She retracts her arm, shimmies away. “I'm not doing this."

“I have bad news for you, Eve. You already did it.” She pauses, regretting that Eve cannot fully appreciate the shit-eating grin on her face. “Like, a lot.”

“I did this with Niko, and I won’t do it again.” Eve combs some hair out of her face with her fingers. “It doesn’t work.”

Villanelle’s eyes bulge. “I seriously doubt that you did  _ this  _ with Niko.”

“Stop it. I’m serious, Villanelle.” There is a warning in Eve’s voice, some impatient caution that’s supposed to cow Villanelle. 

It doesn’t, of course, but she commends the effort.

Villanelle sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed. She rolls her neck until it cracks. “Nothing happened.”

“Please don’t lie to me. I—I can’t help if you lie.”

Villanelle starts the short walk across the room towards the mini fridge. When she’s passing the large, rectangular window that bisects their room, she takes her time to saunter past it slowly, knowing that Eve will be able to see her every supply outline, every delicate curvature. 

Everything has commenced in bare nakedness since they first checked in: eating, drinking, fucking, sleeping, showering, talking about fucking, then fucking some more. Rinse and repeat.

The light from the mini fridge casts Villanelle aglow and she winces. The generous slice of black forest gateau sits in a plastic container on the bottom shelf. 

“Will you split this with me?” Villanelle asks over her shoulder. Then, feeling the weight of the container in her hand, adds, "I don't want to get fat."

Eve rests her head in her hand as she watches Villanelle squat before the fridge. Eve isn’t surprised by Villanelle’s voracity, but it  _ is  _ impressive to watch her put away heavy meals and decadent desserts, only to need a snack a few hours later.

Eve doesn’t answer, just continues her staring. 

Villanelle turns around to look at her, staring back.

Surprise. They both want to have sex again.

Eve looks away before she can give in to her impulses. “I’m not splitting anything with you until you tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened!” Villanelle laughs it off, standing up to close the fridge door with her foot. “Just because you think you are onto something doesn’t mean that you are, Scooby Doo.”

Eve makes a face just before the fridge light cuts out and the room is thrown back into black.

“What?” Villanelle asks, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Nothing.”

“You did not watch Scooby Doo?” 

“I… of course I did. I didn’t realize  _ you _ did.”

“You don’t think they have Scooby Doo in Russia?”

“I... I guess I never thought about it.”

“Ah.” Villanelle flops onto the bed. The plastic container pops and snaps loudly as she opens it and proceeds to toss a dewy cherry into her mouth. “Interesting what you choose to overthink, Eve.”

Eve scoots back, making room for Villanelle to stretch out. “Don’t get crumbs in here.”

“Aren’we’lee’orrow?” Villanelle asks with her mouth full.

Eve doesn’t even attempt to decipher that.

“Why?” Villanelle repeats after swallowing, careful to lick her fingers. “Aren’t we leaving tomorrow? Today? You know what I mean.”

Eve can smell the aromatic treat wafting from Villanelle’s side of the over bed to hers. 

Great. Now she’s hungry and horny. 

Defeated, Eve sighs. Had roping Villanelle into conversations she clearly didn’t want to have proven effective in the past, who’s to say that both of them couldn’t have walked away from one another, mostly unscathed, a long time ago?

Reaching blindly for the cake, Eve’s hand lands instead on Villanelle’s lap. 

“Oh.” Excited, Villanelle starts to close the container.

“The cake, asshole.”

They share a laugh as Villanelle guides Eve’s hand towards the sinfully rich cake. 

And then they’re chewing in unison, lips smacking, making both their breath and the room reek of chocolate. A comfortable silence blossoms between them. It is so unlike the quietude Villanelle has known in her many homes through globetrotting, and so far unlike that static reticence that Eve lived in with Niko when they were “happy.”

Villanelle sighs happily. She is not yet sated, but already feeling more relaxed with something fatty and sugary settling in her stomach. She orients her body to face Eve, nudging the cake closer towards her. 

Eve accepts without remark. 

Something about the passing of those next tranquil seconds clears things up for Villanelle, allows her to see the hurdle she’s already set before herself. It’s an unspeakable truth that needs to be spoken if she and Eve are going to survive the next couple of days, months, years together. 

They’re two days into a lifetime of running, and all they’ve done so far is confined themselves to a 300 sq. foot room and given their unlucky neighbors a reason to request a room change. They’ve been unable to stop and think for too long, and now they’re both a bit swollen and sorer for it, but no so much so that when they start to ache again—which is every hour on the hour judging by the schedule they’ve set for themselves—they’ll just throw themselves back at it.

It’s the only thing that’s kept them from fleeing London— how badly, how desperately, they needed to have this time together first. 

And now here they are, wolfing down room service leftovers and staving off paranoia. 

Villanelle runs her tongue over her teeth pensively. She can hear Eve moan quietly as she bites into another piece of the cake. She had to tell Eve now, just hurry up and come clean about what she’d done. She couldn’t distract her with cake and pussy forever. 

“I killed someone I maybe should not have.”

“Okay,” Eve covers her mouth to swallow, “Who?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” Villanelle looks away. “Not yet.”

Eve starts to giggle. 

“What?” Villanelle asks, snatching the cake away from her. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing—just… You’re worried I won’t like you if you tell me you killed someone? We’re a little past that, don’t you think?”

Villanelle returns the cake to a neutral space between them on the bed. 

“It was my mother.”

“What?” Eve blurts out, not even bothering to mask her surprise. “Your—I thought your mom’s been dead for years, are you saying you’re the one who killed her?”

“No—well, yes, but also no.” Villanelle rests her head against the headboard. “It turns out she was not dead. But now she is. You know, because I killed her. Recently.”

“I have so many questions about that.”

“Wow, I am  _ so  _ surprised.”

Ignoring that, Eve relaxes her head against the headboard too. She tries to reconcile this new information with all the pleasure and all the tension that has propagated in this room over the last two days.

“You really killed your mom?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like all moms are the same.”

“Okay.” Eve holds her hand up, trying to get her bearings. “I’m not—I didn’t say it like that. I’m just…” She tilts her head, speculative. “You killed your  _ mom? _ ”

“Trust me, Eve.” Villanelle nudges her with her knee. “You would not have liked your in-laws anyway.”

“Probably not…” Eve smiles. “Niko’s mom hated me.”

“Okay, that is twice now you have brought up your ex.” Villanelle leans in close, trying for menacing, but arriving somewhere closer to an excitable envy. “Am I not fucking you enough?”

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished season 3 yesterday, so now all there is to do is imagine season 4.
> 
> As a side note, and more importantly, I finally convinced my girlfriend to watch Killing Eve and she gets halfway through s01e03 when she turns to me and goes, "Maybe this is wishful thinking, but Eve seems very indifferent towards her husband." LOL.


End file.
